


your chance to feel complete

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Additional Chapter Warnings, Aftercare, BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay, Dom/sub, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Overstimulation, Painplay, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Work, Sub Draco Malfoy, Subspace, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11062644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: No longer able to suppress his desires, Draco visits a private establishment to find a fitting partner. The person he’s assigned is the last person he expects to see, but that doesn’t stop him from coming back.Again, and again, and again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, I actually told myself I’d take a break from kink fic. And then this idea hit me, and I just couldn’t not write it. A special shoutout to user cutepoison for being my cheerleader and beta. I hope you like the final product. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco finally gives in, and gets more than he bargained for.  
> Chapter kinks/warnings: blindfolds, bondage, painplay in the form of spanking/flogging, crying, subspace, no sex.

His father’s voice is in his head even as Draco nears the building. He knows exactly what Lucius would say if he could see him now, can practically hear the word _disgrace_ falling from his lips. He can imagine what he’d look like as he tells Draco how unbecoming it is of a Malfoy to be seen at such an establishment, how scandalous.

He enters anyway.

The building is a nice one, filled with expensive furniture and intricate architecture; situated in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but nature surrounding them. It’s why Draco had picked it. Privacy, discretion, they’re things he needs.

“Over here,” calls a voice, and Draco turns, spots a woman sitting behind a desk. She’s older than Draco, much older, but she’s dressed in a leather body suit, her presence radiating both power and confidence. “Ava,” she says, sticking a hand out. “I’m the one you owled.”

Draco feels his nervousness resurface immediately, knows his palm is clammy when he reaches forward to take her hand. “Draco,” he says, because there’s no point in giving a fake name. Not when his face had been in the papers enough following the war that most people recognised him.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Ava says, smiling at him kindly. Thick, dark curls fall across her shoulders, her skin and bodysuit gleaming beneath the light. “Everyone is their first time.”

Draco nods slowly but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say.

Ava picks two files from the organised mess she calls her desk. “We’ll get right into it,” she says. “You said you wanted to hire a dom. I’m guessing you meant a male one?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Most people looking for a dominatrix have more of a reaction to me,” she says, smiling when Draco looks embarrassed. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I’m not the right pick for you, anyway.”

She steps around from behind the desk, places a gentle hand between Draco’s shoulder blades, and leads him away from the foyer. They walk up a flight of stairs, passing by rows of rooms. Draco can only guess what’s going on behind closed doors.

“I’ve got two people available who fit your profile,” Ava tells him. “One’s a new guy, the other’s much more experienced. I think you’ll fit better with him.”

They walk up another flight of stairs, and Draco can feel his heart in his throat. Can feel the nerves in his gut. He hadn’t expected to feel this anxious, but he can’t stop it. His sexual preferences, his desires, it’s something he’d spent his whole life trying to deny. And now that he’s here, now that living out those desires is a very real prospect – it’s as terrifying as it is exciting.

Ava stops outside a door, pulls her wand from the belt resting low on her waist, and presses the tip to the lock. “Don’t tell him I said this,” she says to Draco, pushing the door open. “But he’s a bit of a gentle dom. He’ll be good for your first time.”

Draco nods again, follows her inside. It’s a nicely decorated room; filled with sleek furniture but spacious enough to not feel overcrowded. There’s a large bed in the middle, a row of metal trimmed glass cabinets covering both side walls. When Draco looks, he can see the equipment on display, the toys. Things he’d only ever dreamed of using.

“Take a seat, darling,” Ava says, voice pitched to soothe. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll send him up in a minute.”

“Thank you,” Draco murmurs, watching her go before walking to a row of cabinets. He unfastens his outer cloak, lets it rest on the back of a cushioned armchair, and takes a closer look.

He recognises most of the things he sees – restraints, paddles, various types of toys – but has no clue what some of the other things are. Arousal stirs in the pit of his stomach, and Draco knows that this is what he wants. What he _needs_ , despite how terrified he feels.

He startles when he hears the turn of the door handle, whips around to see who he’s been assigned. The person standing there is... is…

“Severus?” Draco asks, voice a shocked whisper. Immediately, he can feel himself flush, can feel humiliation make its way up his throat. Of all the possible people, the last person he’d expected was…

Severus Snape stands in the open door way, looking much calmer than Draco does. There are traces of surprise on his face, but nothing like the shock on Draco’s, nothing like the sheer panic starting to show.

“I’m sorry,” Draco says, before Severus can speak. He reaches for the cloak he’d taken off, his words jumbled together when he continues, “I’m sorry. This is a mistake. I made a mistake. I have to go. I shouldn’t have even co—”

“Sit.”

Severus’ voice is calm, quieter than Draco’s but filled with so much authority that Draco obeys on reflex. He falls into the armchair, hands folding in his lap, and shuts his mouth.

“Good,” Severus murmurs, letting the door bang shut behind him. Draco watches him lock it again, watches as he steps closer. “You came here to hire a dominant, did you not?”

Draco nods infinitesimally, but stays quiet.

“I asked you a question, Draco.”

“Yes,” he says, quickly adding a _sir_ when Severus raises his brow.

“And am I not what you ordered?”

“Yes. No. I—” Draco cuts himself off, fidgets in his seat. “I wasn’t expecting someone I knew.”

“Would you feel more comfortable with a stranger?”

“I don’t know.” He really has no clue. Part of him thinks he won’t be comfortable either way.

Severus sighs softly. “It’s your choice,” he says. “But an arrangement such as this will only work if you trust your partner. Do you trust me, Draco?”

Draco takes a steadying breath, nods slowly. It’s the truth, even now, even after all the years that had passed since they’d last seen each other. He trusts Severus as much as he trusts anyone; far more than he would a stranger.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco amends. It almost feels like he’s at school again. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.

Severus reaches a hand forward, places the pad of his middle finger on Draco’s bare neck and traces it up, tilts Draco’s chin back so Draco’s forced to look at him. “Do you trust me to take care of you?”

Draco breathes a quiet _yes_ , lips barely moving to form the word. They’ve not been in the room together for five minutes, but Severus’ presence is captivating. Alluring. As the shock dissipates, as the panic slowly fades, Draco knows that this is what he wants.  That he wants Severus to do this.

“Good,” Severus says, letting his hand drop away. He steps back from Draco, away from the armchair. “Get on your knees.”

Draco whips around to look at him. “What?”

“Knees,” Severus repeats. “Now. Don’t make me tell you a third time.”

Obediently, Draco slides off the chair, falls onto his knees. He chucks his robe on the vacated seat, tries to keep his nerves at bay as he waits for Severus to speak again.

“Keep your gaze focused ahead,” Severus orders. “Posture straight, hands behind your back.”

Draco slips into the position, surprised at how easy it is to simply follow orders. His body is still rigid with nerves, his hands clasped together to stop them from trembling, but the apprehension is easing. Fading with every second, with every moment that passes where he doesn’t have to think for himself.

“While in a session, you will refer to me only as sir,” Severus says. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will speak only when spoken to, with the expectation of implementing your safeword. Speaking out of turn will result in punishment.”

Draco can hear Severus moving closer, can feel his presence behind him. He tries not to squirm, resists the urge to turn and look at him. A hand lands on the back of his neck, rough fingers massaging the skin gently, and Draco bites his tongue to halt his gasp.

“We’ll use a standard set of safewords,” Severus says. “Red to stop, yellow to slow down, and green to start again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you feel uncomfortable, if something is too much, I expect you to use them.” Severus crouches down behind Draco, positions his mouth so it hovers above his ear. “And while we’re in this room,” he murmurs, reaching a hand to pull Draco’s bottom lip from between his teeth. “I expect you not to hide your body’s responses. If you want to moan, if you need to scream, I expect to hear it. Are we clear?”

Draco exhales slowly, breath shaky. “Yes, sir,” he says for a third time, body leaning back against Severus’. An arm curls around his back, a hand sliding beneath his arm, pulling him from the ground.

“Up,” Severus commands, standing with him. He brings Draco to the set of cabinets on the left side, watches closely as he looks at what’s inside.

The items here are more on the vanilla side – blindfolds, gags, small restraints – but he can see the obvious interest in Draco’s eyes. The desire. He opens the cabinet, plucks a silken blindfold from its spot, and holds it towards Draco.

“Some find blindfolds helpful their first time,” he explains. “It may help calm you.”

Draco looks at the bit of fabric, reaches a hand forward to take hold of it. It’s smooth against his fingers, soft. He’d not used one before, but staring at it now, he thinks he might like it.

“Do you want anything in particular?” Severus asks. “From this side of the room?”

Draco eyes the restraints, lingers on a set of thick rope. “Can you…” he trails off, points at the one he wants. He’d used something similar before, had enjoyed the lasting burn. The way it’d left his upper body immobile. That partner, that experience—it’s as close to this that Draco had ever got. “My arms?”

Severus smirks, moves to grab it from the cabinet. It’s not what he’d call a beginners restraint. “You’ve been bound before,” he says, and it’s not a question. He glances to the other side of the room, takes hold of Draco’s arm again and walks him to it, dropping the restraint on the bed along the way.

Here lies more heavy duty equipment, things Severus considers more fun than simple restrains and toys. He watches Draco eye the collection of floggers, watches as his gaze trails from basic wooden paddles to floggers made with leather, rubber, metal.

“You listed an interest in painplay,” he murmurs. “This is what you meant?”

“Yes.”

“Have you used any before?”

“I…” Draco sighs, shakes his head. “No.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not,” Draco says. “Not really. I made a makeshift one, once.”

“And used it on yourself?” Severus asks, brow raised. He looks slightly amused. “And?”

“It was okay,” Draco admits. “I have nothing to compare it to.”

“I’ll change that,” Severus promises. He opens the cabinet, picks up a basic wooden paddle, and pauses. He looks back to Draco in silent contemplation, turns back to the cabinet after a moment to grab a suede flogger, too. The two items are much simpler than most of the others he owns, but he knows they’re a good place to start. “We’ll start slow,” he tells Draco. “Ease you into it.”

Draco nods, follows Severus to the bed. The other man drops the new items next to the restraint Draco had picked out and takes the blindfold from Draco’s hand.

“Turn around,” he orders, and Draco does.

He tries to breathe slowly as Severus fastens the blindfold around his head, effectively blocking off Draco’s view of the room. It’s an odd sensation, to have his sight taken away, to be forced to trust Severus with his body and safety. Part of him likes it – loves it – but the other part is freaking out. He can feel his breath coming quicker, can feel his heart rate speeding. Can feel his body on the verge of shaking.

“Shh,” comes Severus’ soothing voice, his mouth just above Draco’s ear again. Draco feels him move to stand in front of him, feels a large hand rest against his chest, above his heart. “It’s okay,” Severus murmurs, rubbing slow, calming circles against Draco’s chest. “Just breathe.”

Draco tries, tries to level his breathing with Severus’, tries to focus on the gentle pressure of Severus’ hand and nothing else. It works, eventually; his breathing returning to a more regulated pace in minutes. Severus doesn’t remove his hand as Draco had expected he would. Instead, there’s more pressure. A more affirming touch.

“Good boy,” Severus comments, and he sounds genuinely proud. Draco gasps, his stomach flipping in a way he can’t describe. The words make him want to whine, make him want to do whatever he has to for Severus to say them again.

He feels hands brush against the buttons of his robe, can’t help but hold his breath when Severus starts to undo them. He stays as still as he can, keeps in mind that Severus hadn’t asked him to help. Slowly, each item of clothing is removed from his body. Severus strips them from him gently; calloused, experienced hands massaging his skin, keeping him calm.

“Place both arms behind your back,” Severus says, once he’s standing naked in the room. “Cross your forearms slightly, hold on to either of your elbows.”

Draco does as he’s told, feels his erection pulse as Severus ties him into place. It’s a much more comfortable position than a straight-armed bind; much more convenient, too, for what Severus has planned.

“Stay,” Severus murmurs, stepping away from him. It’s followed by a rummaging noise, the sound of something wooden hitting the floor. A moment later, Severus is back at his side, one hand curling around his waist. “Come.”

Draco follows him, listens as he takes a seat. With some difficulty, Severus manhandles him until he’s lying across the older man’s lap, his strong grip keeping him in place. Severus pushes a knee between Draco’s legs, lets Draco hook a leg below his to help steady his body.

Draco feels vulnerable like this, his body completely bare while Severus remains clothed. His upper body immobile and his sight restricted. It leaves him at Severus’ mercy, means he can do little else but take what Severus has to offer.

He’s surprised at how much he likes it.

A warm palm rubs slow circles in the flesh of his ass, prepping the skin. “I’m going to use the paddle first,” Severus informs him. “Do you remember your safeword?”

“Yes, sir,” Draco responds. He doesn’t want to use it, doesn’t plan on using it, but he knows it.

“Good,” Severus says, and then, without further warning, he raises his arm and strikes Draco with his bare palm.

Draco yelps in surprise, body jolting with the shock of it. At first, all he registers is the slap of skin against skin, the loud sound in a room that had, until now, been near silent. But then he feels the pain blossom across his ass, the heat. It doesn’t hurt, not really, but it’s there.

He can’t tell if he likes it or not.

Severus rubs at the area of impact, gives him a moment before repeating the motion on his other cheek. Draco doesn’t yell this time, just squeezes his eyes shut behind the blindfold, clutches onto his elbows to brace himself.

He feels something cool press against his ass, feels smooth wood slide over his skin. Severus places a hand flat on his back, against the arch of his body, and says, “I want you to count them.”

There’s a quiet thud with the first strike of the paddle, the hit more solid than Severus’ hand had been.

“One,” Draco groans, near silent. He tries his best to stay still as the next blow follows, the paddle hitting the same place as the first. “Two,” he says, and this time it’s louder. Pushed out through gritted teeth.

The third, fourth, fifth strikes follow, and Draco whines, tries to keep his breathing steady as he calls the numbers out. Severus’ movements are obviously practiced; each strike applied meticulously. He maintains a steady pressure, a consistent force. The pain increasing with every blow.

Strike six, seven, eight come, and Draco’s voice cracks. He can feel himself slipping, can feel pain and pleasure blurring into one. His cock is hard against Severus’ lap, the pain more enjoyable than Draco had imagined. It hurts, stings, but he likes it. Likes how it makes his body feel.

By the tenth blow, his eyes are watering. Small droplets of water slide down his cheeks at an inconsistent rate, most of them absorbed by the edge of the blindfold. By fifteen, he’s sniffing; wishing he could move his arm to wipe at his nose.

Severus shushes him, palm rubbing small circles into his assaulted skin. “Good boy,” he soothes, voice low. “You’re doing beautifully, Draco.”

Draco squirms, whimpers. He’s almost embarrassed at how much the words affect him.

Severus traces his finger down his spine, says, “I’m going to use the suede now. Start over from one.”

It isn’t a question, but Draco nods anyway. He adjusts himself on Severus’ lap, tries to brace himself.

The suede is softer than Draco had anticipated, but it stings more than the paddle; the tails hitting him across most of his ass. As he grits out a _one_ , he can only imagine what he must look like. How red his skin must be.

It hurts more, too, and Severus gives him a longer adjustment period. Draco can feel his flight-or-fight response kicking in, can feel his body telling him to get away from the pain. He’s struggling to hold his position, tears falling freely now, but he’s determined to get through it.

He knows he’s safe, knows Severus isn’t going to _hurt_ him, not in a way Draco hasn’t agreed to. He tries his best to see past the pain; lets his body shake and shiver as he focuses on the traces of pleasure that are still there.

When he calls out _two_ , he doesn’t recognise his own voice. Barely hears it despite it being a scream.

He can feel the hazy feeling return, like he’s slipping from reality. It hits him in an instant; one moment he’s hyperaware of what’s happening, and the next it’s like he’s melting. There is only the pressure of the flogger, the faint sting of the strike. Only Severus’ hands on his skin, only the _pleasurepainpleasure_ that takes over his body.

By the third strike, he’s incoherent.

By the fourth, he feels like he’s floating.

By the fifth, he isn’t actually sure if he’s been hit or if he’s imagined it.

He isn’t sure if there’s a sixth blow either, isn’t entirely sure what’s going on. There’s just a drawn out period of _safecalmcaredfor,_ and then Severus is moving. He feels Severus manoeuvre his body until he’s kneeling back on the floor, feels the tip of a water bottle pressed to his lips with the quiet command to _drink_.

He does, swallows the water like he hasn’t had a drink in years. A hand brushes sweaty hair away from his face, thumb brushing the skin of his forehand gently. “Good boy,” Severus says again, and Draco thinks he feels himself smile.

“I’m going to take your restraint off,” Severus tells him, and Draco feels him crouch down, feels skilled fingers move over his skin. His arms ache when they’re let free, his muscles burn. Severus massages his shoulders lightly, eases his arms from the bind until he’s in a more comfortable position.

He moves to Draco’s front, gently lifts the blindfold from his face and resists the urge to smile when Draco merely blinks at him, obviously out of it. He uses a damp cloth to wipe at his face, cleans up the traces of tears.

Severus pulls him to his feet, walks him towards the bed, and helps him lie on top of the covers. He lies next to him, keeps an arm wrapped tightly around him, and presses his mouth to Draco’s forehead.

“Shh,” he whispers when Draco gasps in pain, the bed cover brushing against sore skin. Draco’s hands clutch at his shirt, his fingers twisting in the fabric. “You did so good,” Severus tells him, punctuating the sentence with a gentle kiss. “I’m very proud of you, Draco. You were so good for me.”

Draco whimpers, buries his face against Severus’ shoulder. The praise only adds to his content feeling, to the calm.

“I’m going to move in a minute,” Severus tells him, brushing a hand down Draco’s back. “To clean you up. You can sleep if you want to.”

Draco hums, already looking half asleep. Severus waits a moment more before slipping away from him. He walks to the cabinet full of potions, takes the ones he needs, and returns to the bed. Nudging Draco onto his stomach, Severus starts with a muscle relaxer, something to ease the pain in his joints. He rubs it into Draco’s shoulders, where his arms had been pulled back, and tries not to laugh at the small, pleased noises Draco gives him in return.

He moves lower, rubs a cool, thick cream into Draco’s bright red skin. It’s meant to help the bruising, meant to keep the skin intact.  Without it, he knows Draco won’t be able to sit tomorrow, won’t be able to sit for days, actually.

Aftercare is a practiced art for Severus, and it doesn’t take long for him to ensure that Draco’s taken care of. By the time he’s done, Draco is snoring softly, head buried in one of the beds’ pillows. Severus tidies the room, puts the potions and their play items away, folds Draco’s clothing and leaves it on the armchair.

He keeps a vial filled with a pale blue liquid on the nightstand, something to help Draco with the headache Severus knows he’ll have upon waking, and manoeuvres him until he’s lying under the covers, thick, warm blankets on top of him while he sleeps off his high.

Severus doesn’t fall asleep, but he does stay with him.

All in all, he considers it a successful session.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! My writing schedule for this month definitely didn’t go to plan, but hopefully you’ll forgive me. Chapter warning for painplay (flogging) and safewords. Thank you again to user cutepoison for the beta.

Draco lasts a whole week before he gives in and makes another appointment.

When he’d first decided he was going to hire someone, he’d told himself that once would be enough. That he’d experience it once and never again.

But then he’d gone. He’d gone and he’d experienced it and it was all he could think about, the memory never far from the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t known what to expect going into it, but the session had exceeded every expectation. Had left him craving more.

He’d been confused when he’d woken up – almost an hour after the session, body exhausted and only slightly sore. Severus had still been in the room, sitting in the corner chair, a book open in his lap, and Draco had been intrigued. He’d had questions, mostly about what he’d experienced – the serenity, the addicting _calm_ that Severus had called subspace – and as he’d left the establishment, he’d only thought of more. He was interested in Severus; in the how, what, and whys of his being there.

It’s the hope of falling back into that relaxed mindset that leads him to booking another appointment, and a curiosity about Snape’s presence that has Draco ensure it’s with him.

*

“I was wondering when you’d come back,” says Ava when he enters the establishment for a second time. She’s got a smile on her face, dressed in the same body suit as last time.

“What made you think I would?”

“Severus’ clients always come back,” she says. “At least for a second go. I’ve always said he should take more on. He’d make a bunch of money.”

Draco pauses at the word _clients_. For the most part, when he’d signed on, he’d known what he was getting himself into. Had known he was paying for sex work. It just hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t be the only one. That Severus would have other people he did this for, other people who paid him to do it.

He pushes the thought to the back of his mind, leaves it for future him to dwell over, and tunes back in to Ava’s chatter. “He’s already up there,” she’s saying. “Same room as last time. You need help finding it?”

Draco shakes his head, smiles politely at the offer. “I remember,” he says. “Thank you.”

*

When Draco enters the room, Severus is sitting on the bed’s edge. There’s padding on the floor a few feet in front of him, equipment Draco can’t quite make out on the bed behind him.

“I thought you would have changed partners,” Severus says by way of greeting.

“Why would I do that?”

“Surely you realise this is highly inappropriate.”

Draco locks the door behind him before walking forward and standing in front of Snape. “Hardly inappropriate,” he says. “I’ve not been your student for years.”

Severus hums quietly but doesn’t comment further. He looks over Draco, his gaze intense as it lingers on Draco’s face, contemplative. “You seem preoccupied,” he decides. “Is there something you wish to ask?”

“No, sir.”

“What did you expect when you came here today?”

“I don’t know,” Draco tells him, truthfully. He hadn’t given it a whole lot of thought. In fact, he’d expected Severus to decide.

“What did you hope for?”

“I don’t know,” he says again, feeling a little like an idiot. “I thought we could do something like last time,” he says. “But something new.”

“Something more extreme?” 

Draco feels the first flutter of excitement, his tongue peeking out to dampen his dry lips. “Yes.”

“Very well,” Severus says, and his tone of voice shifts from conversational to something harsher; something reminiscent of Draco’s schooldays, where the man had been commanding a class. “Strip.”

It’s like the first hint of submission blossoms throughout his brain, the excitement lingering in the pit of his stomach increasing as each second ticks by. He does as he’s told, reaching for the fastening of his outer cloak before pulling it from his body and resting it on the chair. He reaches for his shirt next, pops the buttons open slowly.

“I didn’t say put on a show,” Severus calls. “Quicker.”

Draco sighs. “Killjoy.”

Severus raises a brow at him. “Have you already forgotten your rules?”

Draco pauses for a split second, swallows. “No, sir.”

He continues undressing, his skin prickling from the new chill. He feels almost uneasy under Severus’ steady gaze. There’s a different feel to this session, something less gentle.

Once undressed, he stands before Severus, feeling awfully exposed while he waits for the next set of instructions. “Kneel on the padding,” Severus eventually says, standing from the bed.

Draco lowers onto the ground, grateful for the soft cushioning. Closer now, he can see the few toys that litter the bed. There’s a flogger that catches his eye, its leather tails gleaming under the light.

A hand brushes across his shoulder blades, and Draco shivers. Severus’ hands are warm, rough, and the knowledge of what they can do excites him.

“A lesson in self-restraint,” Severus murmurs. “I want you to stay as still as you can, with no assistance from a bind.”

Draco nods wordlessly, lets his head drop forward, face pointing to the ground. His forehead brushes the edge of the bed, his hands pressed flat against bare thighs.

For a moment, he wonders if he’s meant to be aroused. He’d always thought of submission in terms of sex – in terms of being held down and shagged until he couldn’t breathe properly – but this… This is different. Severus is different. There isn’t anything overtly sexual to it, not really. Severus doesn’t touch him in a way that’s sensual, doesn’t do anything with the goal of getting him off.

No, it’s little more than a power play. A sort of give and take. It’s unlike any type of sex he’s had before, and Draco only calls it sex for lack of a better word.

Still, there is pleasure to be found. Draco isn’t what he would call aroused, but his body is tense with anticipation. There is something gratifying in giving up control. In letting someone take care of him.

It is, perhaps, the greatest indulgence. To exist with such little responsibility.

“Same rules apply, but you don’t have to count,” Severus tells him, and Draco can hear the rustle of sheets as he grabs something from the bed. “What do you say if you want me to stop?”

“Red,” he answers promptly. He doesn’t know why Severus continues to ask. It’s a simple word, not something he’s likely to forget.

“Very good,” Severus murmurs, and Draco’s mouth twitches into something resembling a smile.

 _That_ , he thinks. That has the ability to change things; holds the potential to send a burst of pure, scorching arousal right through him. He’s always liked being praised. Has always enjoyed being good at things and having everyone know it.

It’s especially heightened here, every one of Severus’ pleased reactions sending a warm shiver through his body. It’s hard to explain. He thinks, maybe, it’s because he’d spent so many years trying to gain Severus’ approval. Thinks it could also be the tone of voice; pleased, proud. Almost tender. Something he’s not often exposed to, these days.

Potential, indeed.

A hand brushes his back once more – briefly, the ghost of a touch – and it’s the only warning he gets before their session _really_ starts.

The flogger hits with a solid sound, the leather slapping against the skin of his back. Pain blossoms beneath it, the flogger harsher than the paddle had been, and he can easily imagine his skin turning pink; smooth porcelain fading to blotchy red as it heats with pain.

Draco inhales sharply, body arching away from the flogger on instinct, but he stays put. He can still hear Severus’ command to keep still in the back of his head, and he wants to follow it as best he can. He _wants_ to be obedient.

He braces himself for the second one, eyes squeezed shut as the flogger hits his left shoulder. He grunts, low and quiet, and waits for the third.

The leather stings, its tails harsher than the suede from the previous session. He can’t tell if he likes it.

 _Four._ Draco’s never thought about masochism too much. He doesn’t like pain under any circumstance – it has to be a certain instance. Like rough handling in a bedroom, like being left bitten and bruised and sore. Or like this, like a controlled hand delivering something he’s asked for. And even then – _five, six, seven_ – Draco’s not entirely sure if it’s the pain that excites him or the hope for what’s to come.

The blows continue, Severus’ pace steady. Practiced. Draco can feel himself falling, can feel his mind drifting. It’s a nice feeling, the world fading away until all Draco knows is the pressure of the flogger. The heat of pain as it blossoms over his skin. The presence of Severus behind him and the sounds of his own whimpering.

By the time fifteen hits, Draco’s eyes are watering, his breathing ragged. He sways where he kneels, hand darting forward to steady himself, fingers curling in the fabric of the bed covers. He apologises quietly, and Severus places a hand on the back of his neck, thumb and forefinger massaging the skin while he’s given a moment to right himself.

The twenty-fifth strike hits, and Draco can feel his body trying to get away from the flogger. No matter how hard he tries to remain still, his body jerks away, a scream sounding when the blow inevitably lands. It _hurts_. Everything is yelling at him to run, to get away, but still. Draco clenches his teeth and tries to take it.

The leather hits again, and this time the pain is too much to bear. Draco’s safeword is ripped from him, the word _red_ falling from his lips, too loud in the quiet room.

Severus stops immediately. Draco almost hadn’t expected him to, but he does. He listens as the flogger is dropped to the bed, feels it when Severus crouches next to him. There’s a quiet voice telling him to breathe, and a hand touching his arm, careful not to brush where his body’s been hit.

“Sorry,” Draco gasps out, voice breathless, and Severus shakes his head.

“Don’t.”

It’s a blur of pain and following the guidance of Severus’ hands, but Draco eventually ends up sitting on the bed’s edge, a cloak wrapped around his lower half and Severus behind him. He runs a damp cloth down Draco’s back, preparing it for the ointment he has on hand.

“We could have kept going,” Draco says. Now that he’s calm and out of harm’s way, he feels more than a little embarrassed.

“That would have been bad etiquette.”

“I could have handled it.”

“No you couldn’t have.”

“But—”

“Draco,” Severus says seriously. “Using your safeword isn’t something to be ashamed off. You gain nothing by pushing yourself to do things you aren’t ready for.”

“I wouldn’t have used it if I’d known you would stop entirely.”

There’s a quiet gasp as Severus rubs the first bit of cream into Draco’s back, the substance cold against his aching skin. “Then you’re more of a moron than I thought,” Severus says, plain and simple.

Draco sighs, and it could be a laugh. “Good to know you’re still a bastard,” he mumbles. “I was starting to worry.”

The fingers on his back pinch him lightly, and Draco yelps, head turning to glare at Severus over his shoulder. “Isn’t this supposed to be the part where you take care of me?”

“I know what you can handle,” is all Severus tells him, pinching him again for good measure.

*

“So what was it?” Severus asks once he’s dressed and preparing to leave.

“What was what?”

“You were distracted when you came here. Why?”

Draco sighs. “I wasn’t distracted.”

“You’ve never been a very good liar, Draco,” Severus says. “At least not to me.”

“It’s nothing,” Draco tries, but Severus continues to stare, expectant, and Draco can feel the question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Can feel curiosity taking over his better judgement. When the silence stretches to something almost awkward, he can’t help but blurt out, “How many clients do you have?”

Severus arches an eyebrow at him, and Draco notes the look of surprise. “Surely you don’t expect an answer.”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“No,” Severus says. “What I do outside of our sessions is none of your business, Draco.”

Draco huffs. He’d expected that, which is why he hadn’t wanted to ask, but he’s still disappointed. “I just want to know who I’m sharing you with.”

“I am not yours,” Severus tells him. “You aren’t sharing me with anyone.”

“I just mean—”

“I cannot disclose information about the patrons of this establishment,” Severus says. “You know that, so don’t ask.”

“Fine. Tell me this, then. Do we all pay the same?”

“No.”

“Do you sleep with them?” He doesn’t really mean to ask it, but it’s out before he can stop himself.

“Draco,” Severus says, and his voice is full of warning.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. And then, because he’s already put his foot in his mouth, “Is it an option?”

“It isn’t,” Severus tells him, definite. There’s no room for argument.

“Really?” Draco’s face is pulled into one of surprise, his hands fiddling with the fastening of his cloak. For some reason, he’d expected it would be. “So you get paid to hit people? Some job.”

Severus sighs, impatient. “There’s more to it than hitting people,” he says, and his tone suggests how little he thinks of the statement. “I think I’ve overestimated your competence.”

Draco scowls at him. “It’s all you’ve done to me.”

“It’s all you’ve asked for.”

True, Draco thinks. But then, he isn’t entirely sure what he _can_ ask for. “What if we do something different next time,” he suggests.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Draco says. “You pick. Whatever you want to do to me.”

A surge of excitement washes over him for a moment, the prospect of being completely at Severus’ mercy more exciting than he’d originally anticipated.

“You’re handing me an awful lot of power.”

“Isn’t that the whole point?”

Severus dips his head in acknowledgment, arm reaching to pull the door open for Draco. “It is still potentially unwise of you,” he says.

“I guess we’ll see afterwards.” He steps out into the hallway, turning to look to Severus as he offers a final goodbye.

He’s already excited for their next session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally longer, but I moved some of it to later on in the story as it fit better. Chapters 3 and 4 already have a fair bit written for them, so updates should be quicker. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I have to just stop saying I’ll update soon, because every time I do nothing ever goes to plan. That said, I hope the contents make up for the long wait.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: sensory deprivation (blindfolds, gags, bondage), overstimulation/edging, orgasm control, sex toys. Sort-of feelings.

_Is it an option?_

Severus lingers on that question far more than he should.

Draco’s presence at the club hadn’t been much of a surprise. He hadn’t expected it, no, but the younger man had always shown inklings of submission. Not to many, and certainly not to people he held no respect for, but Severus had seen it. Hidden behind layers of arrogance, yet plain as day in times of need.

Severus remembers the war well, remembers how lost Draco had been, how desperate. How he’d stumbled his way through the last two years, his actions begging for a guiding hand but his pride too vast to ask. Remembers how hard Draco had tried to bury that desire, how the responsibility thrusted upon him had almost been his undoing.

So, no. Draco’s appearance had not shocked him. Nor had his masochism. But that question, a hidden desire to be taken by Severus— that had been unexpected.

_Whatever you want to do to me._

Endless possibilities, and Severus’ imagination has explored each one.

He’d meant what he said. He doesn’t fuck his clients. He hadn’t accepted the job offer because Ava had promised him an endless stream of willing partners, he’d done it because the power found in having complete control over someone had always been appealing, whatever its form.

Still, the image of Draco splayed out beneath him, body arching to his touch – Severus cannot honestly say he’s never thought about it. Can’t honestly say he’s never wanted it. And had he not decided upon a set of personal guidelines to work within, he would do it now. Would take the opportunity Draco has presented him with.

_Is it an option?_

Severus scans the cabinet in front of him, an index finger trailing over the silver edge, his reflection distorted and staring back at him in the dim light.

There are, he supposes, other ways to give Draco what he wants; ones that don’t involve the breaking of his own rules.

*

Three days. That’s how long Draco lasts before he returns.

Severus keeps his smirk to himself as the Malfoy enters the room, but can’t refrain from asking, “Eager?”

Draco glares at him, a mix between annoyance and embarrassment, and Severus wonders, not for the first time, how these sessions make Draco feel. If part of him hates succumbing to his desires, if he struggles with the want to abandon everything Lucius had likely drilled into him, just so he could yield to someone else’s will.

Pride, Severus knows, can be a heavy burden to carry. Often, it is best left at the door.

“It’s been a stressful week,” Draco explains. It looks as if he wants to say more, but he refrains from doing so. Instead, he trails his gaze across the room; starting with Severus’ familiar form and settling on the bench that takes up most of the excess floor space.

Draco eyes the item. It’s built from metal, the surface lightly padded and covered in black leather. There are two levels, like someone’s meant to kneel on one and bend over the other.

“What is that?” he asks, glancing back to Severus.

“A bondage bench.”

Draco arches a brow, and Severus can see the subtle movement of his throat as he swallows, the glint of interest that lights his eyes. “What do I do?”

“Undress first,” Severus says, moving to stand behind him. “You may keep your shirt on, if you wish. The leather will stick to your skin.”

Draco nods, hands already reaching to undo his cloak. “How does it work?”

“You’ll be bound to the frame,” Severus continues. “Arms and legs. You won’t be able to move much.”

Draco feels a flicker of excitement in the pit of his stomach. He rests his cloak over the back of the corner chair and reaches for his belt. “Bound for what?”

“You wanted to be fucked, no?”

Severus says it like he’s discussing the weather, but Draco still has to take a moment to comprehend the sound of the word _fuck_ on his ex-professor’s lips. He’s almost certain his sixteen-year-old self would have come from that alone.

Severus looks towards the bed and Draco follows the gaze, eyes widening faintly when he spots the items there. He sees the ball gag first, then the blindfold. The rest are missed when he settles on a reasonably sized dildo.

He turns back to Severus, a small, surprised smirk curling his lips. “So, when I said whatever you want, your first thought was to bind me, gag me, blindfold me, then fuck me with a dildo half the size of your forearm?” He smiles, now. Properly. “Some fantasy.”

“Draco—”

“I’m not judging,” says Draco. “Or objecting.”

His words are proved true as his pants are pulled off, his cock on display and already half hard. When he’s ready, Draco turns to him, waiting to be told what to do. 

“Lie down on the bench.”

Draco does as he’s told, Severus easing him into a proper position. Once set, Severus touches the tip of his wand to Draco’s body, a set of magical binds winding their way over the flesh and securing Draco to the bench. His ankles are fastened to each of the bench’s legs, his wrists tied the same. When Draco tests it, he can barely move his arm an inch off the surface.

“Here.” Severus pulls his hand from its fist and places a cream coloured cloth in his palm. Draco’s fingers curl around it, his nails making the fabric wrinkle. “You’ll be gagged,” Severus murmurs, “so you won’t be able to talk. If you want the scene to end, drop it and I’ll stop. Understand?”

“Yes,” Draco answers, adding a quiet _sir_ when Severus arches his brow.

The gag comes next, his jaw straining as he opens his mouth wide, the medium sized ball settling between his teeth. Severus fastens the straps at the back of his head, smoothing them down so they don’t pull at his hair, and Draco basks in the gentle touch. His eyes are already shut and waiting for the blindfold, but an inexplicable sensation still tingles down his spine once it’s pulled across his eyes. As if the knowledge that he’s putting himself almost entirely at Severus’ mercy is enough to put his body on edge with anticipation. 

Severus leaves him like that for a moment, allowing Draco’s senses to readjust to the new predicament. He watches Draco breathe, watches his fingers clench around the cloth. Only when the body starts to squirm does he move again. 

Draco remains unclothed aside from the shirt that hangs from his body, the fabric separating the leather from his skin. His knees create dents where they kneel on the bench’s padding, and his back is arched slightly, his arse up and begging to be touched. 

But, _no_ , Severus reminds himself. He still intends to follow his rules, regardless of how enticing Draco looks. 

He brushes a hand down Draco’s back and settles his palm where it dips, pressing down slightly. He listens to Draco gasp through the gag, feels his body squirm; his sense of touch more sensitive now that others are restricted. 

A wand follows Severus’ hand, the tip pressing to the small of Draco’s back, the action accompanied by a quiet murmur, and then—

Draco lets out a small shout as the spell hits. His eyes open behind the blindfold, his body burning with the urge to look over his shoulder and see what Severus is doing, but he can’t. Knows he can’t. 

He focuses on the spell instead. It’s a preparation spell, he knows that, but not one he’s ever used before. Severus’ hand has not moved from his back, has not touched him in any other way, and yet Draco feels a phantom touch, can feel the press of something stretching him open. It’s an odd sensation; something he doesn’t know how to explain. Not bad, but… different. 

Severus’ hand stays planted on his back as the spell works. Rather than loosening him up in one swift move, the magic prepares him just as a human hand would. Part of Draco wishes it was Severus preparing him, wishes it was long, deft fingers scissoring him open, but the other part is too fascinated by the magic. Is too turned on by the way it moves inside of him.

It’s ridiculous, he thinks, how quickly he can be reduced to this here. How easily Severus can make his body crave things it’s never wanted before.

The pressure of the spell is gone far too quickly, Severus’ hand disappearing with it. Draco can hear his quiet steps as he moves around the room, can hear the soft rustle of fabric as he picks something off the bed. His body shivers, excited for what he knows is coming.

Draco’s breath hitches at the first press of the dildo, the sound muffled by the gag. Severus eases it into his body slowly, almost torturously so. He watches as it slips inside of Draco, as Draco’s body bends to its will.

 _He’s so pliant_ , Severus thinks. So delectably tempting. Draco takes it incredibly well – his legs opened wide to accommodate the stretch, his hole gaping and glistening, his body moving with its rhythm, begging for more. Draco is displaying everything Severus finds appealing in a partner, and Severus can’t repress the flicker of want. Can’t stop thinking about how it would feel if the dildo were replaced with his cock. Can’t help but wonder if Draco’s body is as tight and warm and maddening as it seems to be.

He snaps himself out of it, swallowing roughly, and takes a step back. Draco whines through the gag at the loss of his touch, and Severus’ lips twitch as he wields the dildo magically. He sets it to a slow, steady rhythm and walks toward the front of the bench, lowering his mouth to hover near Draco’s ear.

“You take it so well,” he murmurs quietly, pleased with the way Draco’s body jolts. He’s noticed the younger man’s reaction to praise, noticed how desperate it makes him. How eager he is to please because of it. The kink itself was an unsurprising revelation, but Severus hadn’t planned on tapping into it tonight. And yet... “Beautiful boy,” he whispers. “Already desperate and we’ve barely started.”

A visible shiver blossoms down Draco’s spine, his left wrist twisting where it’s restrained, as if he wants to reach out and do _something_. Severus reaches forward, his fingers brushing the bone, and Draco stills immediately, the dildo still moving magically.

“You will not come until I give you permission,” Severus says, neatly clipped nails scratching Draco’s skin with the faintest of touches. “If you do, you will be punished.”

Another shiver, accompanied by another muffled whine. Saliva pools at Draco’s mouth, the liquid dripping across his chin and making the skin glisten under the light. Severus wipes at it briefly, relieving Draco of some discomfort before continuing on with their session.

Continuing to circle the bench, Severus increases the speed of the dildo. He switches its angle, ups its force. The object moves effortlessly, pressing into Draco unrelentingly.

Once the dildo finds Draco’s prostate, Severus makes it focus on that. Each press is directed at the same spot, every thrust slamming into Draco with the same force of a human body. It’s a merciless attack. Only when Draco looks to be nearing climax does Severus retreat and allow the younger man’s body to rest a moment, to come back from the edge.

And then, once Draco has calmed, he starts again.

He keeps at it, bringing Draco to the edge before denying him release. Again, and again, and again. Draco is a mess on the bench, shaking and blubbering, body thrashing as much as it’s able. Severus has reduced the motion of the dildo to something torturously slow; just enough to please him but not enough to give him everything he wants. Everything he _needs_.

He delights in seeing Draco fall apart, in hearing the muffled moans; desperate and pathetic and beautiful. Severus’ trousers are tented, his cock undoubtedly hard, and he knows he will be spending some time in the bathroom once Draco has taken his leave. He usually isn’t affected so, but this... Severus thinks he may have underestimated the effect it would have on the both of them.

The unhurried pace continues, the ball gag reducing Draco’s continuous sobs to a stifled string of unintelligible sounds, and even though his jaw aches with the strain of staying open, even though saliva has pooled in his mouth and dripped down his chin, Draco is thankful for the gag. The sounds he’s making are likely embarrassing enough, Draco thinks. He can’t imagine what they’d be like if Severus could understand him.

Severus takes pity once Draco starts to beg, his words jumbled together and mumbled, the sound little more than gibberish broken by whimpers and whines. Draco’s body shakes with the sensation, with the overload of pleasure, and when something that sounds like his name passes through the gag, Severus finally steps forward again.

He places a hand on Draco’s back and feels the flesh jolt beneath it. Even through the fabric of his shirt, it is obvious that Draco’s sense of touch is heightened, that just one touch is enough to make him frantic.

“Good boy,” Severus soothes, his hand lowering to Draco’s abdomen. Draco’s cock is hard against his stomach, bright red and leaking, and Severus reaches for it. As his fingers curl around the head, he bends, mouth inches from Draco’s face as he orders: “Come.”

Draco does almost instantly. Severus watches, mesmerised, as the force of it wracks Draco’s body. As Draco chokes out a loud moan, too far gone to care about the drool dripping from his mouth and polling on the bench, or the come that sprays across his stomach and shirt.

Even as Draco’s muscles spasm, even as his body comes down from its climax, the dildo continues to move at an unhurried pace, overloading the already sensitive body. Severus reaches to unstrap the gag, and Draco takes deep, gasping breaths when it’s pulled away.

“ _Please_ ,” he gasps, the word broken by a quiet whimper. “’s too much.”

The words are accompanied by a twitch of Draco’s hand around the cloth, so Severus steps back from Draco’s body and takes hold of his wand. In an instant, the binds are released, the dildo stopped. He shushes Draco as he eases him into a comfortable position, removing the blindfold in the process.

It’s with some difficulty that Severus manoeuvres Draco from the bench to the bed, the younger man falling down onto the mattress and splaying out on his back, arms spread to either side and legs still opened wide. He mumbles something incomprehensible, his eyes hooded with both pleasure and serenity.

Severus leaves him for a moment before returning with a glass of water in one hand and a vial in the other. He props Draco up and makes him drink until the glass is empty before allowing him to lie down again, and Draco looks up at him from the pillow, hair limp and sweaty across his forehead.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, allowing Severus to take hold of his wrist.

His eyes continue to droop, and when Severus hears a soft snore as he rubs an anti-bruising slave into Draco’s ankle, he’s not surprised. Instead, he continues with the treatment and goes about cleaning the playroom while Draco rests.

*

“How’d you get into it?” Draco asks when he wakes. His words are quiet, the blanket pulled to his chin as he looks to Severus from the bed. He still looks tired, if more alert.  

“Into what?”

Some time has passed since Draco had fallen asleep. The room is dimply lit by candlelight, the evidence of their earlier activates packed away. If it weren’t for the fact that Draco was naked beneath the covers, or the contents of the cabinets that lined the walls, the setting would almost be usual.  

“Working here,” Draco clarifies. “I knew you disappeared after the war, but I hadn’t thought you’d turn in teaching for sex work.”

Severus meets his gaze. “I still teach,” he says. “Just not as a professor.”

He offers no other information, so Draco lets that topic drop. “Then why this?”

Severus sighs, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Draco makes room for him, the mattress dipping under their weight. “Ava is an old friend,” he starts. “She offered me the opportunity when I returned to England.”

“And?”

“And after spending so long with no option but to follow orders, being on the other end had its appeal.”

Draco exhales slowly, shifting unconsciously closer on the bed. He hadn’t expected such an honest answer, and as he looks at Severus, he isn’t entirely sure if the other man had intended to give it. “And you like it?”

Severus’ features morph to a glare, but there’s no malice behind it. If anything, it’s almost playful. “It can be enjoyable when my client isn’t a nosy little brat.”

Draco grins. “Sessions over,” he says. “You’ll have to wait to punish me.”

“You forget I can decline your appointment.”

Draco pauses, smirk slowly fading. “Would you?”

“It’s tempting.”

“But…”

“But I think it may be more satisfying to watch you beg by my hand.”

Draco’s grin returns, but Severus changes the subject before he can continue. He checks Draco over one last time, making sure Draco had obtained no injuries during their session, and stays seated on the bed while Draco prepares to leave.

With a quiet goodbye, he’s gone.

As the door shuts behind Draco, Severus leans against the bed’s headboard and suppresses a sigh. He knows he’d overstepped his own boundaries, knows it was a dangerous decision to get involved with someone he’d known away from the club, someone he had, at one point, considered a friend. Knows it was a poorer decision to continue their meetings.

And yet, as his hand settles on the bedsheets, still warm from Draco’s body, Severus finds he doesn’t care half as much as he ought to.


End file.
